


Repeat

by roboticpuppet



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Blood and Violence, I'm Bad At Tagging, Knives, Not Really Character Death, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticpuppet/pseuds/roboticpuppet
Summary: Anti is at it again with those dang knives and that dang violence.





	Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, ya boi skinny penis is back at it again with the fics that don't make sense!
> 
> Anyways this is my first fic in this fandom and I hope it's Worthy^tm

_Get out of my head._

_Get out of my head before I do what’s best for you._

_Get out. Get out. Get **out!**_

A scream of pain, a sharp inhale. There’s a knife, he’s laughing. Where is he?

_Leave them alone! They don’t deserve this! It’s me you want!_

A giggle, a cry. He can feel the glitches worsen in his mind.

“̗̀Y͖̌o͍̊u̞̅ ͍̀s̫̃ẹ̅ë̪…̜͑ ̫̓w͖͝h͖͝ã̜t̗̍ ͇͝y͚o̘̽u̳͂ ̩̿g̳̕o̡̒t̥͝t͚͐ȧ̟ ̡̄d̬̉ö̝́ ̫̔i̞͛n̲̎ ̝̓a͈͑ ̦̑b̼̈́r̹͗o̢k̪̾é̯n̤̅ ̜ḙ̈́n̂͜v̥̓i̱̊r̦͗o̜͝n̗̎m̞̊e̞̔ń̗t̙͂ ͉̾i̱̽s͚̈́ ̗͝b̺͘r̠͆e̢̅ȃ̢k͇͠ ͜͝i̹̅t͔̑ ͚͑a͕̔l̦̀l͉̇ ̗̀d͔͘ö̡́w͈̚n̗,͎ ̦̃b̢͂ĕ̦f̳͊o̅͜ṙ̰e̢̾ ̣̆y͚͝o̳̎ü̦ ̲̑b̫͌u͎͛i͚͘l̝̔d̟͂ ̯i͚͊t̘̃ ̪̚b̻͝ą̋ç͌k̟͒ ͕͌ǘ͜p̺̐!̮͗ ̦̈́À̤n̮̎d̥̂ ͕̐ẁ͚ẖ̛a̲͘ẗ͓́ ͕͊Ï͎’̯͛m̢̋ ̪̿d͚̿ó̫i̟͋n͓̊g̹?̙̂ ̱̈́I̹̓’̼̽ḿ͓ ̫̊b̫͛r̳͋ẻ̳ȃ̪ǩ͚i̭͆n͓̕g͎̒ ͔̋i͗͜t͈̓ ̹̈à̩l͉̃l̜̒ ̘̾ẗ͇h̝̕ė͙ ͓́w͜a̻̍y̘̋ ̟̏ḑ̂ǒ̮w̝̾ṇ̈́!̹ ͇̓A̜͘n͖͗d͍͘ ̭͒I͚ ̹̋d̠o̢͒ǹ̫’̭͘t̓ͅ ̧̃p̟͗ḻ̏â̰n̨̽ ͙̊o̡̽n͜͝ ͎̈e̤͆v̲̍ḙ́r̞͐ ̨͗b̬͛r̰̎i̒ͅn̰g̪̈́i̫͛ṉ͠g̯̀ ̯̓i̟̿t͔̕ ̫͐b̻͆ȧ̦c̳̾k̢͐ ̜͝u̻̍p̧͝!̳̈́”̬͝

The voice gives him chills. He wants to run. But he know he can’t run away from something in his mind.

_I said… leave. Them. **Alone!**_

A giggle. He feels the sharp point of a knife against his ribs.

_If you want to stab me then stab me. Just leave them alone. I’d rather be the one that gets hurt._

The knife is gone in an instant, only for it to end up getting pressed against his neck. If he made one sudden movement, it’d be over.

“̛͙̥̈́T͎͇͌̈ḣ̼͚̃e̮̼̐̑y͉̣̅̕ ̲͇̈͂ḧ̻̞͠ḁ̻̌̄d̛͍̫̕ ̥̘͐̕t̪͓̿͝h̘̥́͝ê̪͉̕ ͓̟͋͋c̳̣̅̄h̪̭̽̽a̮̳͌̏n̢̘̑̓c̰̼̈́̃e̮̩̎̔ ̲̘͛̾t̢̰̅̍o̯͕̅̇ ͎̝͐̎s̙͜͝͝a͉͍̐͋v̮̲̋͐e̜̺̾ ̪̹͊̒ẏ͔̰̈́ȯ͉̗̂u͚̤̕͝…͕͕̃͂ ̗͇͋́y͈̩̽͛ě̮͚͋ṱ̪͒͠ ̧̲͗̀t̫̻͒͘h̤̺̊̔ẻ̜̽͜ỳ̞̳̏ ̞͈̿̾d̪̗̿̈ǐ̟̰̒d̮̗̑̓ņ̘̾͝’̘͕̀͝ẗ̺̹́̓.̙͉̋́ ͎̝̃͠Ẅ̙͚́͛h̩̳͊̋ÿ̫̞̿ ̠̺̏̐a̮͒̉ͅl̥̳͐͝l̲͓̐͝ ̖͉̂̎t̡̹͂͝h̖̖̔̊ẹ̲͆̋ ͇͔͋̈́h͚͕͋̀a̩͇̎̂r̳̣͌̽d͇̙͊̀ ͈̰̀̅w̗̳̌̀o̤̭̊̚ṟ̫̉̃k̘̫̉ ̨̝͂̎t̬̙͆̅o̢͚͑̕ ̠̜́͗k̼̣̊͘e̻͚͝e̢̳̐̎p͚̱̄̈ ̙̬̌̎t̟͇̀͝h͓̜̒̈́e̞͚͛͘m̻̯͂͘ ̙̯͒̐s̪̳͛̏a̡͎͒̂f̰̻̎̾e̫̥̍̏?͓̪̊͂”̠̭͆̈

Don’t answer. It’s a trick question. He wants you to lose hope. He’s trying to guilt trip you. Don’t. Answer.

_They’ll come for me. No matter what you think, they love me more than they’ll ever love you._

I told you not to answer.

“͔̖̦͍̐͋̏͠T̡̢̛̘̪̔́H̺̪̪̗͐͑̽E̙̘̝̥͆͋͠͝Y̺̜̻͉͗̎͠͠’̫͇̝̱̅̀͗̀R̩̥͖͆̀͘̕͜Ĕ̬̰̲͙͑̌̇ ̡̯̣͕̐̎̎̋M͔̬̬̓̈̓̿ͅY̜͖̜̯̊̆̈́̈́ ͖̥̖͈̃̇͂̓P̜̝̫͕̃̒̉̈́U̱̬̼̾̂̕͝ͅṖ͎̤̞̩̓̕͝P͍͕̮̣͆͋̄̏E͖̪̩͇͐͆̋͝T̖͖͓̪͌̃̽̈́Ṣ̺̦͓̓͐͘.͚̱̭̫̓̌̎͛”̢̛̺̳̩̒̏͠

There is a swift movement. Blood squirts from your stomach like a water balloon getting poked with a needle.

Stay optimistic. Someone will come for you. You won’t die here, you refuse to.

_Puppets? They’re people!_

Another slice. Vital fluid is gushing out now. You feel yourself fall to your knees, along with hearing a high pitched giggle.

He does not reply. Instead you feel a swift kick to your chest and as you fall back, you lose the breath in your lungs and your head slams into the ground.

A wheeze. A grab by the shirt, you’re getting pulled up. You can barely make out what you’re seeing.

“̢̖͖͊͑̉̚ͅS̞̘̱̖͐̍͂̚m̢͍͕̒̅̽̚ͅį̖̞̦̃̇̿͑ļ̟͍̦͗̌̈́͝e̢̠̯̜̍͛͑͝ ̤͓̤̮̾́̐͝f̨̤̝̽̃̈́͝ͅo͇͎̦͂͛̆̈́͜r̨͈̹̈́̏̊͋͜ ̢͕̣̝͌͋̏͠t̮͖̯̤̉̊̌̉h̢̳͓̳̏̏͛̿e̡̫̘̼͒̉̑͝ ̳͍̥̎̃͜͝č͙̣͕̜̌͘͝ḁ̹̬̬͛͊̈̒m͎͍͎̰̈́̉́͘ę̥͙̳̓̀̾̓ṟ̤͍͓͛̇͆͂à̱̬̺̼͗̔̂!̧̞͇̮͒̓”̡̟͍̅̉͜

There’s a flash. A glitch. You feel sick.

You hit the ground once more, not able to comprehend that you’re falling, your head hits the ground once more.

There’s a sickening crack.

“̡̢̘̞͌̄͛̿Ȏ̢̬̲̺͊̕̚h̢͉̦̜́̿͌͝ö̧̘͙̹́̽̉͆h̫͕̳̝̀̊̌͝h̳̳̤͕̽͆͆̚!͔͈̹̤͐̒̽͠ ̨̼̣̠̈́́͋̕Ḑ̱̥̹͆̈́̔̄į̡̢̫̅̽̂̿d̛͓̮͕̖̽̃ ̩͍͓͕͆͋̏̄t͇̻̟̎̃̅̇͜h͖͔̦̣͋̈́͋̈a͙̪̦̐͋̓͛ͅț̬͙̆̈́̑͑͜ ͕̹̻̠̽͊̊͂h̨̠̘̼̋̓͊̄u̢̧̟͙̍͑͐r̭̠̪͛̊̒ͅt͈̹̹̖͆̓̅̊?͎͉̙͓̀̈́̆̚”̹̯̞̠̒̄͝

You don’t reply. Either way he would not care. If you said yes, he would only laugh at you. If you said no, he would make the pain _worse._

A snarl. A kick to the ribs. A crushing snap.

“̬͉͇̤̾̐͘̕H̡̟̖̱̾͂͑̇ȯ̖̝̱̺̀͘ẃ̲̲̬̣́̓̄ ͙̤̙̘̋̌̈́͠ _b͍̻̜̪̆̋̈͝o̢̰̲͓͗͌̚r̦͖̫̣͛̅̈̾ǐ̛̠̝͓͓̐̑ṅ̡̖̪͎̎̎̈́ġ̛̛̯̗̭̞͠.̮͍̰̅̅͘̚ͅ”̛̝̠͕̞̍́̈_

Footsteps. Not your savior, not anyone here to help you. But him. He’s going somewhere. Where? Was he done already?

You sigh in relief, laying on the cold ground as you dread the thought of getting back up. But just as quick as he leaves, he comes back.

_No…_

"̧̳̤͈̅̅̎̎W̨͇̻̝̊̾̊͝h̢̛̙̟̦͊̋̕ä̛̹̹͕̩́̑̑t̳͕͙̩̅̋̔̚?̢̭̩̑͘͝ͅ ̲͕̞͖̋̄͂͛y̟̙̗̹͂̍́̚o̧̹̗͉͂̉̽̔u̯͚̣͂͊͐ͅ ̛̰̭͉͆͌̏ͅr̰̗̗̻̎̈̕͝e͙͔͒̽̈́͜͠ͅa̩͉̣̎̓͘ͅļ̞͓̀͒̌̂ͅl̲͈͇͂̈́͜͠ŷ̳̼̹̿͒̅͜ ̢̧̻̩͋̓̒̏t̨̧̲̰̓̐͗͝h̛̼̰͕̝̃͊͛o̢̤̻͌͂̅̔ͅu͈̠̩͕̎͑̿̋g̬̹͕̤͑͛̆͋h͈̥͈̘̿̌̔̀t̺̱̘̮̎̇̑ ̢͉̙̲̑͘I̛̜̠̼͈͂̓'̣͖͕̤̔̆ḍ̥̱͔͆̅̚͘ ̩̳͎̜̈́̐͠l̛̺̗̩͕̒̊͝ě̜̦̥̲͛̿͛a͇̟͕̩͊̍̿͊v͕̺͈̍̀͗̾ͅe̛͓͉͕̻̊̌͘ ̫̻͙͙͐̐̉̽y̡̭̺̞̆̈́̔̈́ő̤̻̙̜͆̚ư̧͚̗͎͊͛͊ ̪͔̞̜͌̅̄̉a͖̱̜̯̿̂̎͘l̖̱͓͈͊̌̾̓o̢̥̘̠̍̆̓͛ń̞͙̗̝̍͊͝e̫̝͉̺͂̃̉͝ ͍̠̘̰̇͗͌̚s̨̥̪̜͐̆͋͘o͎̩̪͋̀̒̓ͅ ̧̛̫͍͇͑̋̔s̨̧͍͇͋͒̓͂o̳̙̝̼͂̔͋͝o̻̗̗͉̓͌͆̿n̛̫̟̟̯̍̽?͖̦̟̙͛̌͛̋ ̗̣̼͓̐̒̄́O̩̞̰͚̓̃̇͂h̟͍̠͂̓̋͘ͅ ̡̪̤͈̌̇̋̅n̢͙̦̞̏̾͝͝ǒ̡̧̬̻͘͝͝.̣͍͎͚̏̿̒͘.̻̩̮̻̄͗̓.͎͔̬̲̌͗̉̍ ̼̥̗͚̔͂̌̚ _n̯͓̜̫̾̒̓͗ȩ̫̰̤̀͌͂v̯͉̜͇̓̊̊̕ė̘̺̟̰̂͌̆ȓ͍̲̙̱̈́̾.̨͇̭͔́̉͆͠ ̯͚̲̮̒̇̑̍I͚̮͚̣̊͋͊͋'̢̱̻̝͌͛͂̋m̙͚̗̟̅̈́̿ ̭̭͓͑̀̅̽ͅṉ̟͇̯́̏͆e͉͖͉̮͌̾̚͝v̧͔̜̓̈͊͜͝e̡̪̭̣̎͌̌́r͈͙̟̰͊̇̄͋ ̟̦͙̣̔̎͛̿l̘̣͎͙̀̐͒͝ȩ̹͚̻͋̉͌a̛͍̩͚̖͑͗͛v̧̟͈̺̍͛̆̓ǐ̡̨͍͙̈́̕n̢̤̭͓͊͌̓̕g̘̤̥̰̀̌͛͘ ̠̱̝͈̄̎͂̐y̤̦̩̪͌̈́̏̏ö̡͚̱̘́̌͌̕ủ̜̺̩̭̐͒͝.̮̗͖͊̊̇͜͝_ ̥̦̥̯͐͑̒̊Ẉ̫̞̪̆̌̕͝ė̤͕̞͈̍̽̽'̨̠̭̠̿̏̓͋ŗ̟͇̯̍̿͂̐e̘̭̭͔͆̒͆͐ ͇̝̫͙̾̐̇͝ģ̘͙͉͋͊́̊ö̡̖̖̺̓͘͝i̛̘̮͍̲̓́͂ṉ͉͈͂̒͒͝ͅg͕̰̰̝͑̃͘͝ ̡͓̰̌̐͑͝ͅt͍͖̖͎͂̆̆̾o͚̱͚̿̂̕͜͝ ͔̬̫̰̂̋͂b͔̝͚̻̓͊̍͊e̺̻̩͚̋͑̉̈ ̧̙̻͇̀̉͆̚d̛̙̹̬͆̇ͅǒ͉̰̖̞͗͐ḯ̗̰̪̇̓͘ͅņ̙͉̝̑̿̊͐g̛͔̭̪̫̈͝ ̨͚̗̫͒͊͗͂t͖̜̗̱̒̌̋͠h̰̺͉̳̊̌͆͒ȋ̻͖̖̮̄̓s̜̰̖̗̋͛̾͝ ̡͓̺͉̐̈͒͛f̛̥̮̱̟̓̔̕o̝̯̹̙̐̀̃̕r̢͙͚̪͊̔̓̑ ̜̮̠̽͆͋̽ͅa̛̖̺͎̲͊̅̒ ̖̹̥̤͂̏̀͝ _ṿ̛̟̦̠̾̐͝e͎̲̮̖̎͘͝r̛̫̭̞͖̔̔͛ỹ̢̝̜͕́̒͝_ ̫͍̖͖̓͂͗l̺̼̬̞̈́͂͝͠o̺͇̪͔͐̋͑̃n̜͖̙͔͗̿̍̕g̨̱̮͇͑̎́̈́ ̣̱̫̙̍̏̈͝t̡͔͕͍̅́̓͗i͎̭̼̬͛̌̾͂m̩͖̰̹̈̾̅̇ḛ̛͎̝̭̈́͛̓.̰̤͆̄͂̋͜ͅ"̨͖͔̦̾͛̅̌

A scraping sound, heavy breathing. He’s standing in front of you.

He’s straddling you now, pressing an even _bigger_ knife against your throat.

"͕̐̕͜͝͝ͅͅD̞̱̻̋̅͜͝͝o̱͎̥̙̊̋͝͠ ̢̛͓̗̜̎̏̾y͇̜͓̤̔̚ö̙̻͎̞́̈́͗u̢̙̖̒̊̾̇͜ ̢̠̫̩̓̇͊͝ẅ̥̯̰̪͋̍̒ą̥͙̺͗̂̑̿n̜͖̳̲̋̏͂n̪̤̬̠̔̏͝a̝̠̜͇͂̒̉͐ ̖͓̮̩̒̽̌͝p͎̫̘͈̒̌̋l̫̻̦̭̒̆̋̌a̢̮̗͔͛̅͛̕ý͕̙̲̽̎͜͝ ̻̖͈̘̀͒͊͝ā̧̧̟̬̓̀̔ ̩͕̫̖̏̾̏̈́g̦̬͕̟͒͆̀͛a̟͉̱̟͂̈́̈́͆m̢̖̞̈́̐͗̊͜e̹͈̪͔̾͆̚͘?͖̭̟̟͑̎̋̽"̢̤̩̑͐̋̃ͅ

_No._

"̰̝̫͎̔͛͝Ḩ̘̦̥̽̾͗̄m̩̯̮͖̾͊͊͝m̛̱̖̝͆́̐͜.͔͈͉͈͛̐͒͠ ̱̻͇̫͆̌̋͝F̧̺̤̖̽̌̒̓ḯ̖͚̥̩̚͝͝n̡͈̩̜͗͗̇̓ȩ̪͉̠͒͗̋̇.̳̬̻̹͐̈̑͋ ̯͙̰̐̑̔̉ͅI̜̘͎̺͗̓̎̕ ̡͓̣͖̀̓͝͝g̲̜̪͚̐̾͒͝u̢͉͕͍͋̿̀e̛͕̜̳̠̐̎̈́s̡͚͈̞͗́͂̕s̢͉̙̰̏̿͋̐ ̬̖̥̇͋̍͂ͅŵ͎͖̪̮̈̊̍ȇ̺̥̪̬̈́̍̕ ̯͇̩̗̅̃̚͠c̡̺̪͇̈́̎͐̈́ā͉̖̝̚͘̚ͅṇ̩̥̰̔̍̀ ̢̣̝̫̄̓̎̒p̨̦͙̩͋̅͊͝l̤̰̻͂̊̃͜a̪̥̮̼͋͊̋͠ỵ̞̘̹̍̿̎̈ ̧̧͙̞̊̋͆͂l̲̺̊͗͛̄͜͜ă̡͙̝̼̊͋͘ț̡̢̮̏͆̏͘è̞͚̳̗̎̈́͂r̪̬͖̃̔̚͜͠.̨̮͙̝̉̽̕"̮͎̝̬͋̑̕

A slice. Your throat is spurting out blood as your life fades into nothing.

You are not worried though. Maybe next time someone will come for you, maybe not. After all, the same thing will just happen tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: I wrote this for my Creative Writing final last year
> 
> Thoughts? Also, please let me know if I should add anymore tags!


End file.
